Friday, 5 December 2014

There was a timeWhen pen was all I hadMy tool for craft and disasterA form of expression irrespectiveA place where I composedMy medium to createSome prose were polished artOthers were plain mediocre Or at least so I thought,I could never be a real judge Lest I accomplish self aggrandizementPerfection was far away There was yet a slow climb it's stairsThe joy was in the 'doing'The power to create. Making something out of nothingDeliver my thought process in artThis is my birthright My actual true first love. This is my giftAnd then I drift to dozeNap turned to sleepSleep into slumberWake me from my death sleepLet me find the strengthMy own joy from withinStanding ovations in my head. Take away from meThese noises of pollution I need my mind arightI need my power back